Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “Hush,” he whispered, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder, afraid that even that would cause her more pain. “Everything will be alright. You will be better soon.” He did not know whom he was trying to convince.

  Her left eye managed to flutter open and she coughed, bringing blood filled spittle spilling over her ravaged lip.

  “Boy,” her voice rasped, pain evident in the attempt to draw breath. “Is that you?”

  He nodded, too afraid to say anything and then realized that she could not see him.

  “I’m here.” Could she hear his voice tremble? “Shush. Don’t try and talk.” He brushed back a stray lock of grey hair from her face with a shaking hand.

  She tried to shake her head and gasped at the pain the movement brought her. “I must,” her voice thick from pain. “There is so much I never told you.”

  “It’s alright. Everything will be alright.” His long hair fell into her face as he gently rocked, soaking up her blood before he could push it out of the way. Red mingled with white and black.

  “No,” she managed. “I will not get better.”

  He stopped his rocking, eyes wide and fearful of the truth he could not deny. He had witnessed too many animals expire from wounds less severe than hers, but this was Auntie. She was indomitable, immortal. She was dying. And they both knew it. Tears ran down her face to mingle with the red, her breath becoming more strained.

  “I need you...to listen...to me boy,” she managed, words coming in between painful gasps. “Before Gwyn ap Nudd comes...to take me...to the Underworld.” She sighed, looking up at the boy with a sightless eye, the light in it quickly diminishing. “Leave this place...Go. Do not be sad...I will come...again...Just live.” She paused taking short quick gasps. “My only regret,” she whispered, “is that...I never knew...your name.” The light extinguished as her last breath depleted.

  Overcome with grief, the boy fiercely embraced what once was his Auntie, trying in vain to hold onto her, to force her spirit not to flee. Tears flowed. She was gone. His life was gone and he was truly alone for the first time in his life, the shock of that realization still on the edge of his consciousness.

  The sound of a snicker of a horse and the creak of leather drew his attention upwards. At first he thought the man on the horse was Geraint, but that could not be. Geraint was dead too. The torch the man carried illuminated his scared face and the boy realized that there were others around, watching him in wide-eyed awe and fear. There was no fear in this man’s eyes. All he could see was a familiar hatred.

  “See here the demon!” proclaimed the man pointing the torch at the boy. “Even in death the witch has called him and he came!”

  The boy could only stare in dumb shock. He was found! This was why Auntie was dead. They were the ones who did this to her – to them. This was what Auntie had feared the most and it finally came true. He could not believe it. It had to be a nightmare that he could not wake from. What disturbed him the most was that something about the man on the horse that reminded him of someone else, but he could not remember.

  He could hear some in the crowd murmuring as they backed away, saying that Gwyn ap Nudd had come to take the old woman. Some prayed to the Goddess for protection from the Lord of the Underworld. Others prayed to the Christian God that Geraint had told him about. But the men on horseback glared. Undaunted by the devil in their midst they drew their swords. Steel glittered orange off the mirrored blades as they dismounted, the scarred man before him the last to step down.

  Vastly outnumbered and out armed, the boy slowly came to his feet, letting Auntie’s body down gently, to stand well over a head taller than the man with the scar. He had to leave. He had to go now as Auntie had told him. She had known they were still there waiting to finish off their work, but it was too late. The trap was sprung and he was in the middle of their net. How could he be such a fool? He should have seen them - heard them - something.

  The man’s cry was enough of a warning that the sword was coming down to cleave him in two and he barely managed to side step the blow. Using his unstrung bow he managed to strike the man across the face to send him flying to the ground. Without a moment’s pause the boy turned and fled, praying to whatever spirits lingered in the woods to hide him as the leaves and branches engulfed him. The sound of jingling armour against creaking leather faded in the distance behind as he followed trails only he could see.

  The trees and bushes caught and ripped as he ran through the forest, whipping at his face, his arms, his chest and legs, the flagellation a stinging reminder of the pain in his heart. His legs pounded on the ground uncaring to the sounds of cracking branches and crunching leaves. This time he did not savour the smell of the damp autumn. The only scent in his nostrils was one of smoke and death. His breath came in ragged gasps but he still ran on uncertain of where he was going. A stabbing pain in his side did not daunt him and he continued as he forced legs that were getting heavier and heavier.

  He did not know how long he ran until he broke through a clearing in the woods. The full moon high above rained down blue light that illuminated the river before him. Too late to put a halt to legs grown accustomed to his flight the boy tripped over an unseen rock and fell into the river with a shocking splash.

  Lifting his head out of the large stream he spluttered and spat out water before standing on weak and wobbling legs. He stood with a hand on his knees and an arm around his chest letting the cold water rush about his knees. The stitch in his side throbbed in time with the pounding in his ears and with each gasp of breath. As he managed to get his breathing under control the stitch gradually began to work itself out.

  The water began to numb his sore feet and he stood straight, brushing his long dripping hair out of his face with one hand. Gaining the bank of the river he carefully stepped up, nearly losing his balance, before he stood once more on grass and breathed a monumental sigh of relief at the sight of his bow several feet from the large rock he had tripped over. Favouring his right foot, he limped over to the bow and sat down cross-legged, head in his hands. He recognized this place even though he had not been back since that day so long ago.

  A chest-compressing sob tore out of his tightened throat opening up the floodgate he had held back. Tears flooded down his face and he let out a wail of despair, riding the convulsive waves of his misery. He did not have to know why Auntie had been murdered and his chest wrenched painfully with the guilt. He would never see her. Never touch her. Never be able to help her. After all she had done for him, caring for him, loving him, hiding and protecting him, he had brought Auntie her death as she had feared. The tears fell faster and he clutched and rocked himself, giving himself over to the waves of despair.

  The sky seeped into a deep indigo signifying that dawn was slowly approaching by the time the boy wiped his face with shaking hands. The moon was far to the west and the trees cast silver shadows on the blue earth. Tilting his face up to the sky he realized he had only a short time to find shelter from the oncoming day. Physically exhausted and emotionally bereft, the boy painfully regained his feet.

  Looking about he could not see anything that would be of help and there was no way he was going to stay in this grove. The memory of his last day in the sun was too painful to bear and then he remembered.

  The man who had killed Auntie and destroyed his home was the same person that had taken away the day!

  The realization nearly made the boy crash to knees if not for the support of the bow staff now in both his hands. A groan escaped him and he felt as if he were going to be sick. Standing, shuddering at the truth, there was no choice; he had to leave this grove, flee the area, even if he were to be caught out in the sun. The pain of the truth was more horrible to bear than what pains the sunlight could cause him.

  Not knowing where to go the boy did the next best thing, he guessed, and began walking upriver in hopes of finding a ledge or something in which he could curl up underneath. The pain in his right ankle slowly worked itself out to a
dull ache with each step and he sent a silent prayer to the Goddess that he had not sprained or worse, broken his ankle. It was sore, but nothing he could not tolerate.

  The sky ever so slowly began to brighten, but the trees gave him a little more time so long as he stayed under their shade. He made poor progress because of his foot and before he had gone far he realized he had no choice. He had to find a place to shelter him from the day. Looking around he saw a large evergreen; its long branches spreading out from its base littered with brown needles. Maybe it would provide some cover. Something was better than nothing.

  Crawling on all fours, the boy pushed under the branches to the trunk of the tree. The space was small and dark. He could not stretch out to lie down so he leaned his back against the rough bark, placing the quiver and bow beside him. Knees to his chest and arms around his legs he waited for the sun to rise, grateful at least to have something soft to sit on.

  It did not take long to hear the stirrings of the daytime animals and for pinpoints of sunlight to come through his makeshift shelter. It would have to do. Closing his eyes, he made a pillow out of folded arms on his knees and fell into a bone-weary slumber.

  Chapter VI

  He awoke with a start, the terrible nightmare fading quickly into memory. He did not know what woke him until another plump drop of water landed on his face. Somehow, sometime during the day he had fallen over onto his side. His dagger, still attached to his rope belt, jabbed painfully into his side.

  With the back of his hand he wiped the drop of rain off his cheek and realized that it was not the only cause of the dampness on his skin. Pushing himself up to a sitting position he found that his lower legs were numb from being folded for so long, or could that be due to the leather boots drying and tightening? He tried to stretch out, but there was not enough room.

  Gazing up through the boughs, the twilight of the setting sun was gone to be replaced with heavy silver clouds. The sound of sizzling told him that it was raining very hard and he was grateful that he had at least found a semi dry place, but it was time to leave.

  A grumble in his stomach reminded the boy that he had not eaten anything since waking the night before in his bed, in his home. What was he doing out here? Surely Auntie must be worried about him. He looked at the black smudges on his hands and shirt and the memory of the night before caught him, bringing new tears to his eyes. No, he could not go home. There was no home to go to. And Auntie… he closed his eyes in pain, letting tears escape…she was gone. He wondered who would bury her and say the prayers for the dead over her since he could not.

  A few more drops penetrated the thick green branches to rain down on his head. It was time to go, but where? He sighed and ran his hands across his head and through his hair, releasing dead pine needles onto his lap. He ignored the tangles. Fitting the quiver onto his back, he took up the bow stave and got on all fours to crawl out from the shelter of the tree.

  It felt good to stand straight and he stretched, feeling bones in his back click back into place. His ankle throbbed with the renewed blood flow to his legs and he took a couple of careful steps to work out the tingling feeling.

  More rain drops filtered through the canopy of the forest. There was still some light left and he decided that it was better to continue the way he was going, but before doing that he needed to quench his thirst even if he could not gratify his hunger. Limping over to the river, he knelt at its edge and dipped his hand into the fast flowing water, grateful that the rain had made it rise enough so he would not have to step down to its bed.

  The cold water washed away his parched throat as he dipped handful after handful. Once he felt satisfied that he had fooled his stomach enough not to bother him until he could find real food, he stood up and looked into the darkening woods. Hopefully he would find something soon. It was not that he had never known hunger, even starvation, but this time he was scared. This time his life was completely and utterly dependent upon his actions. Fortifying himself with a shuddering breath he continued along the side of the river.

  The ground was damp and muddy in many places where the trees were not thick enough to shelter the smaller plants from the rain. Dried up leaves, now soaked through, crumbled and broke under his uneven steps as he tried to keep the river in site to his left. At times he had to pull away, only to follow the flow by the rushing sounds. Tonight the moon would not aid him and the darkness would be complete once the last rays were extinguished. That thought brought a sliver of worry to his mind in the midst of his thoughts about Auntie and the end of their life together.

  He replayed the scene of the night before over and over as he walked. Maybe if he had not gone out hunting and had stayed home they would both be alive now? Or dead. He shuddered at that thought. He knew how much Auntie wanted him to live. Maybe if he had come home sooner he could have fought or scared off the people. Goddess knew many of them were fearful of him, except that one.

  A knot of anger filled the boy, anger at himself for having let this happen. Auntie had always been worried that something like this would occur and she knew the reasons as he now did. He could not go and live among people who would do this. He could not live among people who feared him because he was different and he crashed down a wall between he and the world, choosing to isolate himself before others isolated him. It hurt less this way.

  Again the thoughts repeated themselves. Too many what ifs plagued his mind until tears of frustration spilled from his eyes. This was killing him as surely as if that man had hacked him in two. He could not keep doing this if he were to survive. Living was not a consideration any more. His reasons were gone. Only survival was left and he would not let Auntie’s sacrifice go undeserved.

  He would survive at the cost of letting his past go. Closing his eyes he brought the image of her battered visage to mind and banished it only to be replaced with the smiling, loving woman he knew, and then that too, with a heart wrenching sob, he banished. Walking through the forest he was truly and utterly alone and accepted that fate.

  The foliage thickened as he continued. He did not know how far he had walked in a daze of thought, but his mind had to come back to the here and now. The rain had stopped, but the thick clouds still blocked the stars and moon from shining down. At least that was something. But where was that thundering sound coming from? Hesitantly, he made his way through the dense brush, leaving the protective cover of the trees behind. Tall dead grass punctuated the spaces between smaller bushes stripped of their leaves. He walked a long time and though he could not see the river anymore, he was reassured by the rushing sound off to the left.

  A few more steps and he entered into a large open area of short grass. He did not need moonlight to see the tall waterfall feeding the river. A cliff face of about forty feet rose above the grove. How was he going to get past that? His shoulders slumped at the realization that he had reached a dead end. He would have to turn back the way he came or he would have to turn north and see if he could walk around it. The river into which the waterfall spilled was as wide as the waterfall was tall and looked treacherous. Trees lined the face of the cliff, but they were not mature enough to be useful in attaining the height of the rock face.

  To make matters worse the sky opened up, dropping a deluge that soaked him in icy water within seconds. The sound of the rain roared in concert with the waterfall. Perturbed, he looked up at the sky through the falling drops of water and wondered what else could go wrong. A flash of lightning accompanied by a crash of thunder that resonated through his whole body made him jump, his question answered. Somewhere behind him the crack and roar of a falling tree told him how close that bolt of lightning had hit.

  The rain fell harder, plastering his hair and clothing to his body. He could not stay out in the open. It was too dangerous. Going back into the forest would provide some cover, but the second and third bolt of lightning and the sound of other trees and branches falling made it clear that it too was unsafe. Maybe he could find somewhere along the cliff f
ace that would provide safe cover.

  Stepping in soggy boots, he walked to the wall of rock. The few trees that were there provided minimal coverage from the rain, their leaves stripped by autumn. He could not stay under one; it was too dangerous. The thunderstorm raged overhead forcing him to continue north until he found a black gaping hole that indicated the entrance to a cave. Finally something was going right.

  Soaked, hungry and on weary legs, the boy bent and entered, revelling in the dryness of the place. He sighed in relief as he took off his quiver and laid the bow down on the ground just inside the entrance. Sitting down on the dusty cave floor, he rung out his waist length hair, making a smaller puddle to the one his body had already made. He did not care. He was in a dry place and right now he wanted to take his boots off and feel how swollen his ankle was.

  The leather laces, saturated with water, made it difficult to untie, but with persistence, the boy managed to undo the simple knots. He was not going to do anything to damage the boots Geraint had given him, and he breathed a sigh of relief once his feet were free. It felt so good to wiggle his toes. He felt his ankle and found it was not as bad as he had thought.

  Halting in mid-examination, he stiffened at the sound of something off to his right, coming from deeper into the cave. He tried to see, but the blackness was absolute. A bubble of fear grew in his stomach. Something was in here with him! A whuffle and a growl that did not come from his hungry stomach proved the point and the sound was coming closer.

  Unable to put his drenched boots back on fast enough, he decided to stand in bare feet. Whatever was in here with him made something of a coughing sound. It was definitely angry.